


In Shallow Waters

by salakavala



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break Up Talk, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Boat Trip, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 12:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salakavala/pseuds/salakavala
Summary: An impromptu boat trip, some rain, and an uncomfortable but much-needed conversation.





	In Shallow Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Viridis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridis/gifts).



> I have had this oneshot in my files collecting dust for ages, and now I finally decided to give it an ending and set it loose.
> 
> For Viridis, because she once said that these boys have the dearest place in her heart, and it was that thought that pushed me into finally finishing this today.

 

 

Dorian had always hated boats. Ever since his childhood, the very first time his mother had taken him to the sea. His passionate dislike had ignited at the very first time the boat had shaken as his nursemaid had dragged him into it. Good times.

Ships he considered tolerable – barely, but on a ship one could at least withdraw into one’s own cabin or hide behind some barrels, when nausea turned one’s face green. On a ship one could at least lie down and pretend to believe that such a sturdy construction was unlikely to tip over and plunge everyone on deck into the depths. On boats, not so much. Especially an ordinary rowing boat. On a rowing boat all one could do was to sit as still as possible, clutch at its sides, and pray to the Maker, Andraste, and all her biological and figurative children that there would be a chance to put one’s feet on dry land once more. Of course, one could also distract oneself with staring at one’s co-sufferer, since one had to sit across from them anyway and there wasn’t very much else to look at, unless one wanted to gaze at the waves and image how quietly they could just swallow the unfortunate soul who fell into them.

For Dorian, as of this moment, that co-sufferer was Bull.

To Dorian’s misfortune, they had found two boats in the secret port they had cleared of Red Templars. Had there been only one, this whole miserable voyage would never have happened – one rowing boat could not possibly have contained a heavily armoured elf, a similarly armoured human, a qunari with an axe that probably weighed more than the aforementioned elf, and another well-grown human to add his weight to it. But because the Maker had clearly abandoned them all, there had been two boats, and of course Killinar Lavellan had absolutely _had_ to investigate the only island within reasonable distance from the shore. _It’s raining,_ Dorian had said, and _Surely the sea is too restless for a boat trip_ , but his protests had been largely disregarded.

So here Dorian was, seated on what was basically just a plank between the boat’s sides, having to decide which was worse, staring at the sea and contemplating his quite recently-renewed sense of mortality, or staring at the grey mountain of muscle before him.

It wouldn’t have been much of a choice had Dorian been presented with it a few weeks earlier. A pity, he thought, to have been presented with it now.

To Dorian’s credit, he did try. It was only that looking at the waves made him even more nauseous, and the Bull’s solid bulk helped somewhat quench the feeling.

“You okay, Dorian?”

Dorian snapped his eyes off the thin, but still visibly red line on the Bull’s right biceps, and focused past Bull, on the island they were heading to. It didn’t look to be much closer, despite the distance they’d already put between their boats and the port in the Red Templars' lair.

“I’m fine,” he replied. If Bull could behave like nothing had ever happened between them, then so could Dorian. Had done so, too, on multiple occasions in his past. He knew this dance.

“You sure? Starting to look a little green on the edges, from where I’m looking.”

 _Kaffas_ , if only Bull would follow the steps too. But of course he’d insist, like Dorian was any other companion in the team. Well. Supposedly he was, for Bull – the infuriating man probably honestly thought that an end to an arrangement reset everything to the moment previous to the said arrangement. Perhaps he wasn’t aware that after endings such as theirs, the choreography _changed_ , that only polite interaction was to take place to save face, that things stayed civil, not _friendly_.

“I rather think I should be asking _you_ that,” Dorian countered, fighting to keep the tension out of his tone. Perhaps he even succeeded. Perhaps Bull would blame it on the sea. Dorian certainly did.

“Nah, I’m good,” Bull just said.

He had wordlessly grabbed the oars as soon he’d climbed on the boat, like it was redundant that he’d be the one rowing. But then, Dorian hadn’t very much objected, had he? He had been too focused on trying to not make the boat tip as he had clambered into it. Too focused on his own discomfort, even though the Storm Coast couldn’t be easy for the Bull either, for an entirely different, and, quite likely, far more heavy reason.

Dorian’s eyes involuntarily swept over the red welt on Bull’s arm before fixing on the waves. “You always are, aren’t you? Silly of me to forget.”

Silly of him to bring it up, too; now, after everything. They had been over this. Bull had made his stance on the matter quite clear. After all, the whole arrangement of theirs had been about ‘blowing off some steam’, as Bull had put it. They had agreed so from the start.

Maker, why was he even thinking about it? It was an ended arrangement like any other. The fact that it had lasted much longer than any other such arrangement in Dorian’s past, or the fact that Bull was quite possibly the most considerate lover Dorian had ever bedded before – why should it differ from any other temporary fling? He knew how these things worked. He knew how the Bull was. It would have been stupid to entertain hopes for anything different. He knew better than that.

 _Fasta vass._ How could he have been so _stupid_ as to entertain hopes for something different?

“It’s just a scratch,” Bull said, pulling Dorian back into the moment and the wind beating the drizzle to his face.

 _Just a scratch_. A scratch caused by a poisoned blade that had been wielded by an assassin who had been sent because Bull had been forced to choose between his people and _his people_ on this very same coast only five, four weeks prior, with the consequence of an entire dreadnought and its crew turning into ash. Of which approximately nothing Dorian had heard from the Bull himself. Because even when confronted, Bull was, obviously, _just_ _fine_.

Well, sex was simple. It didn’t require much talking, did it?

Which was perhaps why Dorian couldn’t stop himself from speaking out, now that they were no longer having sex together.

“That _scratch_ was put there almost three weeks ago, you oaf, and it’s still barely keeping from bleeding.”

Bull had the audacity to shrug. “It’s the poison. Prevents it from healing properly, even with the antidote. It’ll take a little time, that’s all.”

 _It's the poison_ , like it was a regular deal, a splinter in one's thumb. “That’s not my point,” Dorian snarled, a little taken aback by his sudden anger. He quickly glanced at the boat shared by Killinar and Cassandra further on, but apparently they were engrossed enough in some debate to not hear anything else over the wind and rain.

Dorian could feel Bull’s eye landing on him, and refused to meet that carefully impassive mask that he knew Bull was wearing.

“What’s the point then?” Bull asked. “What’s this about?”

What, indeed? Dorian had no answer. He didn’t want to _know_ the answer.

He thought he had taken it rather well, when Bull had ended their – thing. He had answered with dismissive humour, and then got drunk in his own room, and the next evening again in the tavern, just to demonstrate to the Bull that it hadn’t really affected Dorian that much at all. He had continued spending evenings at the Rest (if marginally less frequently) and sometimes engaging in some nonsensical banter with Bull (quite significantly less frequently). He had shown with his entire being that what had occurred between Bull and himself didn’t bother him in the slightest. All that show had perhaps been as much for his own benefit as for the Bull’s, but he needn’t have bothered so; after all, none aside the two of them had even known that there had been an affair. Save for, potentially, Cremisius, who had regarded Dorian with a keen eye both during and after their arrangement, but that had been expected, his being so close to Bull. Other than Krem, the secret had not got out.

Bull had even handled the separation graciously, taking the blame on himself rather than just saying that he wanted nothing more of Dorian, that Dorian had overstayed his welcome. _Don’t want to add pressure to your baggage,_ _Dorian,_ _and if you’re ashamed of this, that’s_ _precisely_ _what I’m doing._

 _It was fun while it lasted,_ Dorian had replied.

So why Dorian would lash out now was, in all truth, a bit of a mystery to even himself.

“We are nearly there,” he said, because he had no answers Bull required.

“Come on, you can deflect better than that.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s… something else, and I took it out on you. I apologise.”

Bull regarded him with a little frown. Dorian had no idea what was going on behind that eye, whether Bull had bought his explanation. “You okay?” Bull asked, again.

Dorian unclenched one of his hands from around the boat’s side to wave it dismissively at Bull. “Oh, I suppose, as much as anyone could possibly be while floating upon a few rotten planks that are rather generously called a ‘boat’ in the middle of this Maker-forsaken sea, soaked to the bone in a cold rain, and busy imagining how quickly my armour would drag me to the sea floor should the boat… tip.” He hastened to return his grip on the boat when a particularly massive wave jolted them.

“I can ask boss to put us in different teams if this makes you uncomfortable.”

It was Bull's sudden directness that shocked the words out of Dorian’s mouth. He collected himself quickly.

“There’s absolutely no need for such measures.”

“We don’t have to tell her the reason. She doesn’t have to know.”

Bull's insistence cracked Dorian's mask, letting the ire seep into his voice. “What is this now, Bull? By all means, ask her, if you like. Tell her why, even. But do _not_ do so on my account.”

Infuriatingly, Bull remained seemingly impassive. He shrugged. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Stop pushing your excuses on me!” Dorian could feel his skin crawling. “ _Fasta vass_ , Bull, you’re _allowed_ to end a relationship if it doesn’t work for you. You're _allowed_ to do things based on your own feelings on the matter. I’ve heard enough of your Qun to know how they guilt you into thinking that doing things for yourself is selfish, but you’re no longer under their command, so learn to speak of things as they are and stop trying to justify your decisions by pretending that you base them solely on what other people want! What you _think_ other people want.”

Dorian knew, even before he’d stopped talking, that he was being unreasonable and even hypocritical, and that Bull’s wounds about the Qun were still fresh (ha!). But it suddenly sickened him, how Bull seemed unable to do _one thing_ for himself, how he needed to make it about someone else’s good. Like it was somehow better for Dorian to be left because Bull was seemingly doing him a favour, instead of simply not wishing to continue fucking.

“I apologise for what I said about the Qun,” he continued, only marginally less harshly than before, before Bull could open his bloody mouth and turn everything around again. “Not for the content, mind you, but for the timing. I know it’s hard for you. But Bull, you need to know that you’re allowed to want things. Or not want them, as in our particular case.”

Bull stared at him, for so long that Dorian almost began wanting to crawl out of his skin and leap into the waters, and that was saying something.

“Okay. Let me get this straight. This is about us no longer fucking?”

Dorian wanted to tear his hair out. “ _No_ , it's about-” And just like that, he deflated. “Must we truly do this? We were doing so well, too.”

“So it _is_.”

“Have it your way then. Suppose it is. Do whatever you want, but for Andraste's sake just drop the matter so we can pretend it never happened by the time we hit the shore. _If_ we hit the shore and not the bottom.”

“No, I think we’re gonna talk about it. Sounds like you’ve misunderstood-”

Dorian snapped his eyes to Bull's furious. “I am not joking, Bull. I will sink this boat myself if you as much as hint that this is about me.”

“Fine,” Bull said. “ _I_ want to talk about it.”

There were precisely two options: to let Bull have this conversation, or to jump over the railing and drown. It was a tough choice, but Dorian settled on gritting his teeth and clenching the boards tighter. He’d been through worse. At least after Bull got his will through, they could truly drop the matter for ever and all eternity. “Out with it, then.”

“So, okay. You think I wanted to end our thing.”

“You _did_ end our thing, Bull.”

“Because it wasn’t what you needed.”

“Oh, for-” He was _this_ close to tearing his hair out. “If I’d been unhappy, I would have said so! I can handle a rejection, Bull. I am an adult.”

Finally Bull showed some emotion; his brows drew into a frown. “But you always left immediately after.”

“It wasn’t because I was, well, displeased.”

“Yeah. You just didn’t want to be seen. You didn’t want them to know.” Bull caught his eyes, and held them. There was no judgement in his tone, but no concession either. “You were ashamed. And shame doesn’t work for anyone in that context. Not like that. If you’ve got to keep glancing over your shoulder when you come to me, I’m not really working for you. You need someone to whose bed you can go without fear.”

Dorian opened his mouth reflexively – he always had a retort to everything – but nothing came out. Of course it’d be something like this that rendered him speechless.

Would you look at that, Bull _had_ actually thought he was doing Dorian a favour. _Not everything centres on you, Pavus._

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he finally forced out.

Bull cocked his brow at him.

It was Dorian's turn to remain unfazed. “Do you really think I would have declared my affairs from a rooftop if I had been with some other man? None of my previous trysts made it into public knowledge. That I know of. Ours wasn’t different.”

Even though he had hoped… but not enough, had he? Bull hadn’t really talked to him, but neither had Dorian talked to Bull. He hadn't even suspected that this had been bothering Bull.

“Then why did you always leave?” Bull asked.

 _Because_ _I have_ _learnt to not hope for more. Because_ _I_ _feared_ _you_ _would_ _leave first_ _. Because_ _that way_ _it would hurt less, when things_ _inevitably_ _end_ _ed_ _._ As they had. Which had proved Dorian's cautiousness right.

He sighed. “Because sooner or later, this would happen.” He detached his hand from the side and brought it to rub his forehead. Anything to get a brief reprieve from the intensity of Bull's gaze. “Things end. Sleeping alone is significantly easier when I’ve been doing so from the start.”

Maker, how contradictory could a man get? By what right had he wished to find more in his affair with Bull even as he was all the while working against it himself?

“This is ridiculous,” he declared, as much to himself as to Bull.

It hadn’t even started like that. It had started because Bull never admitted his pain and downplayed his injuries, and now he had made it about Dorian and his problems again. Which was exactly the problem. Or part of the problem. It would seem that keeping quiet was something for which he and Bull shared the blame equally.

Bull rowed silently for a while. The island was getting closer. It brought a sense of finality to Dorian's mind. Once they landed, this moment would be gone. And while mere moments ago that was precisely his wish, now Dorian began to feel that perhaps there was something unresolved between them, still. Something that they had a chance to work through, to find closure, if nothing else.

“Bull,” he said suddenly. “Did you want to put an end to our entanglement?”

Bull frowned at him, as if not fully understanding. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Debatable. But that is not what I asked.”

This time it was Dorian holding Bull's gaze. Astonishing, how difficult the question was for someone as highly intelligent as a former Ben-Hassrath agent. Perhaps Bull could crack open – both figuratively and literally – any other person, but he was entirely unable to do so to himself.

“Well?”

The frown melted into helplessness on Bull's face. He kept his eye on Dorian as he finally answered, “No.”

A rock that Dorian hadn't truly been even aware of crumbled within his chest. Suddenly he felt dizzy in a manner wholly different from that caused by the rocking of the boat – his chest felt light, almost, which should have been impossible in such ghastly weather.

“What about you?” Bull countered. He spoke slowly, as if weighing each word before giving them voice. “Did you always leave because you wanted to?”

“No,” Dorian said. “No, frankly, I much prefer staying in bed for the post-coital afterglow to traipsing on the battlements in the freezing nightly mountain wind. That is to say –” He cleared his throat. “– that I much would have preferred staying with you.”

Bull hummed. He looked at Dorian like he had had a revelation.

“We are quite hopeless at this, aren't we?” Dorian asked with a self-deprecating laugh. “An uncommonly talented scholar and enchanter from Tevinter, and a razor-sharp former spy from Par Vollen – and look at us, unable to use simple words to navigate a-- a simple arrangement.”

For the first time in days, Bull responded to Dorian with a grin. “Nah, think we covered the _words_ pretty well.”

Had Dorian held more confidence in their miserable boat's capacity to keep steady, he would have swatted Bull right on his wounded arm. As it were, he had to content with relaying the sentiment with a glare alone. “I do not mean _those words_ , Bull.”

Bull's grin faded a little, shifted into something more careful and uncertain. “Yeah. Probably comes with practise.” Then, he added in an odd voice, “We don't really talk about what we want under the Qun.”

“We, on the other hand, talk a great deal of what we want in Tevinter,” Dorian said. “Unless of course what we want can be used against us.”

“Guess that leaves us both a little out of practise, then.”

Dorian mirrored Bull's lopsided smile. “So it would seem.”

Silence resumed between them, but now unpleasantly. Rather, it was thoughtful this time.

Dorian was the one to break it. “It would appear that we have misunderstood each other terribly,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Bull replied, and Dorian's gaze snapped to him; it had been but one word, but Dorian could taste the weight of regret in it. Perhaps some of it was his own.

“Do you think,” he began, mustering his courage, “Do you think we might try setting things straight? Once we get back to camp, perhaps. Or Skyhold. Maker knows I'll need a hot drink after this terrible island, anyway. Might as well share it with you.”

Bull's shoulders sagged visibly; he had grown tenser and tenser during their conversation. “Yeah. Yeah, that's good.” He wiggled his brows at Dorian. “Could practise our words.”

“How you manage to make even that sound lecherous is beyond me.”

“Hey, it's your mind, not mine.”

A genuine laugh broke free from Dorian's chest. “Ah, quite.”

Their boat hit the shore. Killinar and Cassandra had already beached and gone to investigate what appeared to be a washed-up body a little further along the shore. Dorian was grateful for this little additional moment of privacy.

“Bull -”

But the words got stuck in his throat.

Bull met his gaze, steady and sincere. “I hear you, Dorian.”

And despite their previous rather sad miscommunication, Dorian believed him.

Things were far from resolved between them, but when Dorian hopped on the shore, for the first time in weeks the ground felt steady under his feet.

*

 


End file.
